


Stay

by murphamy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunkenness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 17:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6529864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murphamy/pseuds/murphamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If this were a movie - and Murphy was not so inebriated - he'd half expect Bellamy to kiss him. Instead, Bellamy presses the back of his other hand to Murphy's forehead and frowns.</p><p>"How much have you had to drink?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

This was a huge mistake.

Emptying his guts out in Bellamy Blake's en suite was not the way John Murphy planned to spend his Friday night.

He had wanted a nice relaxing evening in. 

 _Alone_.

He was about to get that too - warm pajamas and a Saw marathon ready - when, as he should have expected, Emori was spamming his phone, insisting that he accompany her to _Bellamy Blake_ 's house party. Emori was good friends with his little sister, Octavia, but Murphy couldn't stand either of them. They were both rather stuck up, in his opinion.

It kind of explains why Murphy, incredibly drunk and feeling like someone poured acid down his throat, is retching into the toilet while Bellamy tucks sweaty strands of hair behind his ears.

Murphy stops gagging and leans back on his knees. His senses are all over the place but his vision is a little less blurry now; he vaguely recognises Bellamy scrunching up some tissue and wiping around his mouth.

Then a bottle is being pressed to his lips and he whines, desperate to get away from every last drop of alcohol.

He swears never to drink again.

"Shh," Bellamy murmurs, tipping the bottle up, "it's only water. You'll feel better."

At that, Murphy greedily gulps down the entire bottle and hopes it will settle his stomach.

He hates being sick.

"You okay?" 

Bellamy's fingers tap Murphy's jaw and he tilts his head up.

If this were a movie - and Murphy was not so inebriated - he'd half expect Bellamy to kiss him. Instead, Bellamy presses the back of his other hand to Murphy's forehead and frowns.

"How much have you had to drink?"

Not enough, Murphy wants to reply. Being in Bellamy's room is bad enough - being in his presence and touched by him is a whole other level of torture.

"I hate you," he slurs. He curls his hands around Bellamy's and tries to peel them away from his face. He fails. His body is weak and Bellamy is stubborn. 

"Oh really?"

The bastard smirks.

Murphy groans and leans forward. Bellamy catches him, strong arms wrapping around his shoulders and holding him close.

"You going to stay here all night?"

Murphy nods against Bellamy's chest. He doesn't like this. He doesn't want to be anywhere near him but - he's warm and soft and gentle, and he hasn't felt this content in a long time. 

His dislike doesn't stem from nothing, you know. 

He remembers Bellamy's pinches and punches and the taunts on the playground. So maybe they were just kids - and maybe Bellamy's father had died around that time - but it excuses nothing. It still hurt.

Murphy doesn't think Bellamy even remembers. They hardly speak in school. It's just the occasional glance in class or a brushing of shoulders in the corridor. Murphy hates it. He hates him.

He does.

"Come on," Bellamy sighs. He lets go of Murphy and stands, but is quick to pick Murphy up and place him not-so-firmly on his feet. Murphy mutters something incomprehensible but it doesn't matter. Bellamy is shoving him out of the small bathroom and into the bedroom. 

Murphy guesses it's time to leave.

Then Bellamy is holding his shoulders and instructing him to stop, wait a second.

He jogs over to his bed and pulls the covers back, fluffing up the pillows and straightening out the sheets. He beckons Murphy over with one hand and pats the bed with the other. 

"I'm not-" Murphy starts, waving his hands loosely in front of him, "I'm drunk," he finishes, rather clumsily.

"Don't be an idiot. You need to rest."

Bellamy's still tapping his fingers on the bed. It does look rather inviting. Even if it is Bellamy Blake's.

His feet are moving on their own and then Bellamy's gripping his wrist and pulling him down. He tucks the blankets around Murphy and whispers something - Murphy doesn't know what - but it sounds kind, caring.

"Everyone's leaving soon," he says, patting Murphy's stomach gently. "I'll stay in O's room tonight."

He makes his move to leave and now it's Murphy's turn to grab his wrist and pull him forward. He half sits on the bed, half has no choice but to lean on Murphy. He blinks, eyebrows pulled together, lips pressed in a thin line.

"Or I can stay?"

Murphy nods and scoots aside.

"Stay."

**Author's Note:**

> So. This has no plot. I guess this is my fill for fuckyeahmurphamyfanfic's monthly prompt: Protective!Bellamy.
> 
> It's kinda protective?
> 
> I'm rolling with it. YOLO.
> 
> ~bellamy-b on tumblr.


End file.
